


Lines and Blocking

by Beth Harker (Beth_Harker)



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Christine is the focus character, F/M, M/M, Multi, fits with the events of Stammer but you don't have to have read it to read this, non-explicit sex mention in the first chapter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2019-04-16 07:37:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14159931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beth_Harker/pseuds/Beth%20Harker
Summary: In play rehearsal, things are easy, which is kind of a testament to what a mess life is the rest of the time.  Whatever.  Hell Week, a confusing multiplayer romance, and bad advice from the evil robotic Hilary Clinton doppelgänger that lives in her brain are all things that Christine Canigula can totally cope with.





	1. Chapter 1

**Scene One: a Math Classroom**

 

Spring means a lot of things to a lot of people. To Christine, it means everything, all at once, and it's all coming at her in a frenetic and unstoppable whirlwind ( _ohmygod_ ). So, like, spring brings flowers and warm weather. Mornings smell like frost, and afternoons smell like summer. Cute little animals are coming out of their winter burrows in order to have lots and lots of sex, and that's distracting, because how is one supposed to pay attention to math class knowing that the little birds swooping around outside the window might be in the midst of eight million complicated love affairs? 

Christine shifts in her seat, as her math teacher rambles on, thankful that Mr. Dalir likes her, even though she doesn't understand ninety percent of what's going on. According to math, eighty million birds, by virtue of their vigorous participation in the annual bird orgy, could produce a lot of birdlings. To find out exactly how many, all that somebody (probably a bird scientist) would have to do would be to divide the number of birds in two, and then multiply that number by the average number of eggs one bird could be expected to have… only that doesn't work because one male bird could potentially mate with multiple female birds, or maybe all the birds are lesbians, who knows. Either way, there's a number somewhere, and also some birds mate for life. That's terrifying. How do they make that kind of choice? How do they weigh all their options? They’re birds! They could have dreams of forgoing family life and joining a synchronized swimming team, and not even know it, because their brains are roughly the size of peanuts. 

Something flickers and pixelates in the corner of Christine’s eye. She taps her finger on her desk. _Ignore, ignore, ignore…_

“You should figure out what you want out of life, and put your energies towards it,” says Hilary Clinton, who is sitting in a tree outside the math class window, her fingers steepled. Her face is placid, yet somehow disappointed. Christine screws her eyes shut, and counts to ten. When she opens them again, Hilary is gone, and Christine is content with the idea that it's okay not to have everything figured out at the age of sixteen, because she has to be content in that. Being sixteen is almost a survival strategy at this point. Christine is a teenager! Constant confusion and mental conflict are practically biological imperatives! She's okay. She’ll be okay. 

“Why settle for okay?” says Hilary, who has moved to sit in the empty desk besides Christine. “It's imperative that you find a set of goals, and stick to them. If you are incapable of doing that on your own, I’ll simply have to do it for you.” 

“Aren't you supposed to be deactivated?” Christine asks. Hilary’s words sting about as much as they always do. Of all the things Christine needs right now, an evil robot undermining her free will and self-esteem is at the very bottom of the list. 

“You’re dreaming,” says Hilary Clinton. 

“I'm what?” 

“Miss Canigula!” 

Christine's eyes snap open, and Mr. Dalir is standing above her, hands on his hips. Christine looks behind her, and out the window. No sign of Hilary. 

“The answer to the equation!” Mr. Dalir prompts. 

_87,_ whispers something outside of Christine. Screw that. Screw it big time, throw it out the window, and stomp on it until it turns to dust. 

“I don't know,” says Christine. “Sorry.” 

Mr. Dalir turns back to the blackboard with a sigh, like there's nothing harder in the world than being a teacher, and that might be true. Christine has acted in plays where the audience just weren't feeling it, and it sucks big time. Teaching a bunch of half-asleep kids has gotta be some kind of discouraging. Christine is glad that she’s not Mr. Dalir. She'd rather be almost anyone or anything else than him. 

In the school play, she's a witch. Sometimes she's an ugly old hag, and at others she's young and beautiful. She's evil, but evil in a way that the audience can understand and vibe with. At least she hopes she's that kind of evil. Right now she's mostly tired, but that's because it's hell week, and between living and breathing her character, helping Jeremy learn his blocking, and trying to get Mr. Reyes to not mess with Sondheim more than he already has, everything is even more frayed and wilder than usual. 

A lot of philosophers, artists, and randos on the internet have a bunch of different ideas explain the concept of freedom. Like, according to the stupid part of America, which Christine very much opposes and needs to defeat by any means possible, freedom means owning tons upon tons of guns. Ralph Ellison, who wrote the Invisible Man, thought freedom meant self discovery. Dr. Seuss thought freedom meant being a turtle. 

_**FREEDOM!!**_ cries Christine's swiftly beating heart, as the school bell rings, heralding the end of math class. Right now, to her, freedom means lunch. 

————


	2. Chapter 2

_Scene Two: a dingy school cafeteria. Some students stand in line to purchase meals on blue plastic trays. Spirits are high, for today is chicken nuggets day. “Hark!” the cafeteria ladies sing out. “Here there be nuggets!”_

_Some students have already taken seats at their lunch tables, where they voluntarily arrange themselves into cliques— jocks at one table, stoners at another, Popular Girls at a third, and so on and so forth. Christine's table consists of people who did one hell of a drug at the last school play, and ended up digitally linked in a way that Christine suspects still lingers. That's the only way to explain how they are simultaneously so mismatched and so perfectly aligned._

**Cast of Characters**

**Christine Canigula:** 16\. Short  & Dramatic. The star of our show! In her hands she carries a notebook exploding with doodles, disorganized worksheets, and a jumble of notes for all of her classes, in no particular order whatsoever. It's her only notebook, because she lost the others ( _deliberately_ , after Hilary Clinton came to her in a dream and told her to stop losing her notebooks). Christine is always and forever brimming with eight-thousand feelings. Today she especially has feelings about play rehearsal, her scarf (which is maroon and has tiny horses on it! amazing!), and the important role that bee keepers play in environmental conservation. 

**Jeremy Heere:** 17\. Chews on the inside of his mouth when nervous. Constantly nervous. Almost destroyed the entire school in order to date Christine. A surprisingly good boyfriend, aside from that one “minor” hiccup. It's all about chocolate, rapt attention, and enthusiastic participation in the things Christine likes. He’s too pointedly considerate (or maybe afraid?) to kiss Christine, which is a selling point, because she is Not Sure. Sweaty and zitty, but that's somewhat reassuring. 

**Jenna Rolan:** 17\. Distractingly pretty. It’s maybe kinda weird to think like that, but Christine does. Also has not tried to kiss Christine, which makes sense, since Christine is dating Jeremy. Knows everybody’s business. 

**Rich Goranski:** 16\. Disconcerting. Trying to develop a personality beyond punching people and flirting with everything that moves. Deserving of support in this endeavor, and in every endeavor, because he's a mess. 

**Brooke Lohst:** 16\. Very very nice. Spends a ton of money on coffee, and is secretly a bisexual history nerd. 

**Chloe Valentine:** 17\. Has a soul, but doesn't want Christine to know it. There's probably a reason for this. 

**Jack Dickenger:** 17\. Ah, yes. Christine's first failed love affair. Self-centered but chill. Where are his parents??????????????? 

**Michael Mell:** 17\. Friend-shaped.


	3. Chapter 3

Spotlight on Christine Canigula, as she sets her tray down, and takes a seat between Jenna and Jeremy. They are discussing Brooke’s middle name, and whether or not Jeremy can be trusted to learn it and not tell Michael. Not telling Michael Brooke’s middle name is an _in joke_ , which Christine is party to, because apparently she's part of the popular crowd now, and that's how they roll. 

“I think we should tell him,” Jenna says.

“He’ll spill,” says Chloe, examining a fingernail which seems to have chipped. 

“It can be like a test of loyalty,” says Jenna. 

“Yeah, I’ll pass.” There's an edge to Jeremy’s voice, that says he doesn't want this. He's blushing. Jeremy does that a lot, like when he's anxious, and when he's trying to be romantic, and when he eats too fast, and when he's exposed to direct sunlight (though Christine guesses the later is technically a sunburn). Christine doesn't assign much importance to it at this point, though of course she _notices_ , because half the time it looks like he's given himself measles or something. 

“It could be fun,” says Chloe. “What do you think, Brooke? Should we tell him?” 

“He’ll tell Michael,” Brooke whines. 

“It's fine. Seriously, I'm not interested.” Jeremy tugs at the collar of his shirt, then stops, hands going flat. Fidgeting goes against his programming. 

“Lay off,” Rich says.

“I'm going to tell you anyway,” Chloe sing-songs, learning in to Jeremy. “Brooke Lohst’s middle name is…” 

Jeremy curls away, hands over his ears, but Michael is coming into the cafeteria, bounce-step-bounce-step-bounce-step, sushi in hand. Christine jumps up, pointing forward. If he makes to the table, the game is over! Chloe goes silent, just in time for Michael to make his entrance. 

Spotlight on Michael Mell. Cue some kind of jaunty music, probably Marly. 

“Check it out!” Michael sits down, without taking off his omnipresent headphones. “Salmon with avocado. Awesome.” He laughs, and rubs his hands together. Boy likes his sushi. 

“You just missed Brooke telling Jeremy her middle name,” Jenna says. It reminds Christine of when she was little, and her dads would try to make her think she'd just missed Santa’s arrival every Christmas Eve. There was one year when Dad-Ryan announced at the end of Christmas dinner that he needed to go to the gas station to get gas, and Christine needed to go with him. Before heading back home, he'd pointed to the sky, and shouted that he could see the lights from Santa’s slay. In retrospect, it had probably been an airplane, but being like five at time, Christine had believed it, and spent the entire ride home shrieking that they had to go faster faster faster, then run all the way to the door once they finally got there, only to find the Christmas tree already laden with gifts and Santa gone. 

Christine opens her mouth to tell the story.

“She didn't,” Jeremy interrupts, before Christine can get a word in edgewise. He squirms out of Chloe’s grasp. He tugs at his shirt, then tugs again, three or four times in quick succession. 

“There was this one Christmas where—” Christine starts. 

“Some secret agent you turned out to be,” says Michael. He's talking to Jeremy. “Didn't I tell you to learn their weird popular girl secrets and tell me everything you know?” 

“You didn't,” says Jeremy. 

“When I was four years old, on Christmas—”

“Well, I'm telling you now,” says Michael. 

“I hate you all,” says Jeremy. Michael makes a move to ruffle Jeremy’s hair, but stops when Jeremy ducks away. Something in his expression softens. 

“I don't want to know anyway,” says Michael. “I bet it's something stupid, like Brooke Agnes.” 

“Ew, no,” says Brooke. 

“Brooke Getrude,” Michael continues. “Brooke Prudence. I’ll let you have your secrets, Brooke Dorcas. Just goes to show you have something to hide.” 

Christine looks from Brooke, to Jeremy, to Michael, waiting for them to finish. Actually, Michael isn't that far from the truth about Brooke’s middle name. It’s Orca, and that's because her mom is a marine biologist. Christine thinks it sounds pretty, but Brooke is less than pleased about being named after a kind of whale. What if people use that as an excuse to make fat jokes? Christine doesn't get why they would, since Brooke isn't fat, but it's something that Brooke is in mortal fear of. 

“My dads used to always—” Christine tries again, but that's when Chloe goes in for the kill, grabbing Jeremy and whispering something in his ear before he can throw her off, with more force than strictly necessary. He breathes fast through his nose, looking like he's been burned, or maybe electrocuted.

“Now you’re in on the joke whether you like it or not,” says Chloe. 

“Yeah, except I don't want to know anymore,” Michael insists. “I've already decided on Brooke Dorcas, so…”

“It’s freaking A-Adrianna,” Jeremy announces. “Happy?” 

Chloe grins, “No, it isn't.” 

But Jeremy is getting up to leave, and Michael is following, so Christine guesses she is too. High school is pretty dumb, but Christine knows where her loyalties lie. 

Spotlight off Christine Canigula. Life is not a play.


	4. Chapter 4

Drama isn't always theatrical. Sometimes it's interpersonal. Actually, a lot of theatrical drama deals with interpersonal drama, especially romance. 

The romance between Michael and Jeremy wouldn't work well in a play. For one thing, it's unfolding mad slow, and probably the audience would get bored and go find something else to watch— like maybe something with more progression, and less dysfunctional pining. Love songs would also be an issue, if it was to be a musical play. What could Michael and Jeremy even sing? Would it be all like “ _la la la we like video games and being oblivious and dealing badly with trauma, oooh oooh yeah_ ” or what?

As Christine approaches, Michael and Jeremy are in a deep and heated discussion about whether or not Jeremy is okay, and whether or not Chloe is an evil demon monster who feeds off the blood of the innocent (or something like that). 

“I'm not, like… like bothered by her,” Jeremy says. “She was joking. It was a joke. Jokes happen.” 

“But you just left?” Michael says. 

“I told you, because I need to pee, so if you wanna just… like just let me go do that, that'd be good.” 

Michael rolls his eyes, but makes a grand gesture towards the bathroom. Jeremy has permission to hide or urinate, at his discretion. Christine comes up behind Michael, and taps him on the shoulder. 

“Yo,” she says. 

“I just want to know what it'd take to get Chloe to behave like a person,” Michael rants. “Is there a pill for that? Because if any of us needs technology to help us learn how to be a worthwhile human being, it's her.” 

“Last time we tried that it didn't go well,” Christine says. 

“At least she was nicer to Brooke. Like, that's gotta count for something.” 

“We all _had_ to be nice to each other,” Christine reminds him. “We were on the same network.”

Michael bunches up his hair, then yanks his hoodie up over it. “Half the time I think you all still are.” 

Christine doesn't say anything to that, because sometimes she gets the feeling too. If there wasn't a network, things wouldn't be moving so fast between them. She'd like to stay pissed at Jake sometimes, for instance, but she can't. It’s like she's predisposed to like him. Chloe is no longer mean and low-key scary in her mind, and Jeremy is totally way prettier than she remembers him being back when he was just the weird kid with sweat stains on the pits of his cardigan, and the word _boyf_ written across his backpack. Then there's Rich. Rich used to make animal noises at Christine whenever she left the classroom during tests, to go take them in 24B, with extra time and a teacher to help. He never got physical with her, like he did with Michael and Jeremy, but he was the worst, and that's all just _gone_ now. 

“You good?” asks Michael. “You’re spacing.” 

“I haven’t slept in like forty hours, except for in class.” 

“Whose class?” 

“Dalir.” 

“That's hardcore. Did he go ballistic on you?” 

“Nope! And I was like super asleep. Dreaming! I do it by being too cute and likable to incite wrath.” 

That gets a laugh from Michael. “So why hasn't it worked for me, yet? I'm fucking adorable.” 

“Prove it,” says Christine. “Can you do this?” She widens her eyes, and pouts her lips, looking up at Michael with the sweetest expression that she can muster. 

“Check it out.” Michael bats his eyes at Christine, putting his finger to his lips in a universal gesture of innocence. 

“Yeah, well—” Christine leans in close to Michael, and starts batting her eyes like he is doing, only faster. 

“But get this.” Michael whips off his glasses, leans even further into Christine, and redoubles his eyelash batting efforts, only Christine can't tell if it's cute or not, because she's redoubled hers as well, which seriously impedes her ability to see. 

“Uh…” 

Christine looks up in time to catch Jeremy staring at them. 

“Should I even ask?” 

“We were having a cuteness competition,” Christine explains. “I won.” 

“No, actually I won.” says Michael. 

“Who do you think won?” Christine asks. 

Jeremy’s smile falters, maybe, just a little. “Do I have to answer?” 

“Nope,” says Michael. He throws an arm over Jeremy’s shoulder. “Don't need any outside validation to know I’m a pwecious wittle angel-bunny.”

Jeremy gives him the finger. 

“I don't need any outside validation either.” Christine takes Jeremy’s other shoulder (somewhat more awkwardly than Michael, ‘cause she's a heck of a lot shorter). “I’m an angelic fluffy-wuffy muffin.” Jeremy does _not_ give her the finger, but he's grinning all over. 

They don't talk about Chloe, or Brooke Orca Lohst, or pills that can reprogram your brain. They’re just normal friends, in a normal school, waiting for a normal bell to ring and tell them to go back to class. 

Unfortunately it does, and they do, separate ways for each of them. 

————-

Christine stays awake through history and science, if alternating between running her lines under her breath and contemplating the many reasons why Sarah Jacobs shouldn't have been cut from the stage adaptation of Newsies really counts as being awake. But then again, what is being awake, really? Like, it's consciousness, but what is consciousness in the grand scheme of things? Grant Morrison once said that consciousness, rather than being a thing that people had, was a thing that they participated in. Eckhart Tolle said “You are the universe, expressing itself as human for a little while.” 

Christine collects quotes to recite over and over, the same way that she collects the best lines in her favorite play. The idea of being the literal universe expressing itself as human is one of her favorites, because it would explain a lot, albeit maybe not in teacher language. There's no earthly way that Christine could go up to her history teaching, for instance, and be like _hey, sorry for blanking you out, too busy being the universe, y’know._ Besides, it's not like there's just one Christine Caniguverse. There are at least a dozen at any time, and a lot of those universes focus on stories completely different than Christine's own, and some of them only care about mundane things like playing board games with her dads, and some of them are impassioned and political. It's completely up to Christine how they manifest, and who gets to join her in each one. 

Christine meets Jeremy in the auditorium when classes are over. They always get there early, usually even before Mr. Reyes. 

“So, what about your dads and Christmas?” Jeremy asks, in way of greeting. 

“Huh?” 

“At lunch. You were telling a story about them.” 

“Oh!” Christine leans in closer to Jeremy. “They really wanted me to believe there was a Santa, so they alway used to play tricks on me to make it seem like I'd just barely missed him, There was one year when Dad-Ryan announced at the end of Christmas dinner that he needed to go to the gas station to get gas, and I needed to go with him, to help, even though I was five and five year olds aren't very good at putting gas in your car. Before heading back home, he pointed to the sky, and shouted that he could see the lights from Santa’s sleigh. I bet it was just an airplane, but you know, I was too busy being five to think critically about that, so I spent the entire ride home shrieking that we had to go faster faster faster, then ran all the way to the door once they finally got there, but then I saw the tree with all the presents, and dad-Sang told me that Santa had been by but I was too late. Another year, probably even before that, dad-Sang brought me upstairs to take a bath, and then Ryan started ho-ho-hoing downstairs, and I jumped out of the tub and ran down, and Santa was gone, but there were footprints in the snow, leading out to these matchbox cars that'd been dropped there. By Santa, right? And it's the most embarrassing story! I didn't even put shoes on before running out into the snow, but I don't mind you knowing embarrassing stories about me. It's kind of nice to be known. Do you ever get that feeling?” 

“All the time!” says Jeremy.

“Go on then.” 

“Go on and what?” 

“Tell me a dumb story from your childhood.” 

“Uh… when we were in kindergarten I told Michael that Santa wasn't real, even though my parents told me not to, then I did the same thing with the Easter Bunny a few months later, and then we realized we both believed in the tooth fairy, so we started leaving her offerings in this one tree in the playground, and like making wishes.” 

“Did any of them come true?” 

Jeremy shrugs, “Michael wished to be taller than me, and up until like freshman year he wasn't. I don't know what the fuck happened there. Maybe his offerings were better than mine.” 

Christine sighs. “I wonder what I did to piss the tooth fairy off?” 

“You were too sweet. Because… I mean… like… sweet things are bad? I mean they’re good, but bad for teeth. Sorry. I didn't mean to call you sweet. I mean bad-sweet. You’re good-sweet.” 

“You too.” 

“Wait… what?” 

Christine just grins, swinging her legs under the chair. “So, when are we going to ask out Michael?” 

Jeremy groans. He's in too good spirits for it to be a completely unhappy groan, but talk of asking out Michael always makes him squirm. At the rate he's going, Christine has some doubts about him ever getting around to it. 

She's not so sure of the plan herself. That's why she doesn't push. Still, she doesn't see why being unsure about two boyfriends should be any more of a mess than being unsure about one. It's like a go big or go home type of deal, kind of. The way she imagines the arrangement, they'd all enjoy it and be happy together for a while, and then she'd start traveling the world as part of the touring cast of maybe Hamilton or something, and come back to visit them once every five years, and then finally grow old and be reincarnated as something simpler, like a goat. 

Then again, that's only one possibility. There are always so many possibilities.


End file.
